and she dances on the sand.

(Duran, Duran, nineteen-eighty-something, the world’s first ever ‘fuck-off’ music video, as in one that cost more than 30 quid to make in me mate Dave’s garage. And the world’s most poseurish, stylised, vain, totally self-conscious band of tossers. Yet in fact a great song. As long as you can imagine it without conjuring up the image of Simon LeBon, wearing a Miami Vice style jacket with rolled up sleeves, on the prow of a ship in the Caribbean Sea with his hi-lighted ‘blond’ locks blowing majestically in the wind, without vomiting.)

Yet I’m learning that there’s much more to ‘Rio’ than just an early New Romantic song. Its a place. And its people. More fucking people than you can really imagine if you’re not Chinese. How many? Millions? Billions? Trillions? No; Brazilians. Wow! That many.

And every one of them was on the beach last night for New Years. Which they take seriously and put some immense municipal effort into their biggest event of the year.

To put that into context, flash back to yesterday morning’s walking tour of Rio. Which was as fantastic and interesting as any walking tour could ever be with temperatures in the low 40s. They should call it the water drinking tour of Rio: OR DIE!!!! And what we learned, possibly above all else, was that the good folk of Rio are great at starting projects and then… and then… they stop. And what was the Public Library is now the School for Music, which will shut down to be an indoor market. For a couple of years until…

They either run out of money or inspiration. Leaving a city full of wonderful buildings best summed up as ‘a great idea a the time’. Yet the combination of architecture, predominantly Art Deco but with many other styles too, is gorgeous to see, whatever the buildings are now used (or disused) for now in relation to their original purpose.

But New Years is different.

The main road in Copacabana closes at midday. And fills with portable toilets, medical stations, crowd barriers and ambulances. Hundreds of ambulances just sitting there, engines running, lights flashing, all day. The crowds descend on the beach, put out their towels and umbrellas, pens for the babies, and great big ice boxes for the beer. Given a choice; abandon the baby, keep the beer cold. No brainer. Ya can’t drink warm beer. Unless that’s all you have left.

The crowds come. And come. And come. And come. And keep coming until ‘critical mass’ about 11.30 when the entire population of Brazil is right here. The band then stop at midnight, and the fireworks start. And of course they’re brilliant; they’re fireworks. Set off from a series of barges moored off the beach. Spectacular.

There are police, stewards, guardia civil and the fucking army. There are doctors, nurses, paramedics and footballers. There is everyone and everything. Though, obviously, it is simply impossible to have sufficient toilets for millions of people. Who are drinking more and more with every hour. But otherwise it was impressive. And a magnificent and spectacular event.

I might have to come again next year. Or I might not.

Happy New Year

A xxxx